


Where It’s Only You and Me

by RobinWritesChirps



Category: Black Friday - Team StarKid
Genre: Alternate Universe - Medieval, Blacksmith Tom, Blow Jobs, Childbirth, Cunnilingus, Dirty Talk, Domestic Fluff, F/M, First Time, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Missionary Position, Noble Lady Becky, Parents, Secret Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-15
Updated: 2020-08-16
Packaged: 2021-03-05 06:47:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 14,068
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25290046
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RobinWritesChirps/pseuds/RobinWritesChirps
Summary: The lord looked at him like he was no grander than the specks of soot floating about the small room. The lady did not look at him at all − but then, she never did, not where others could have noticed. There was a place where they lived and lied and Tom knew very well not to thread it too close to danger.Medieval AU Barneston. Fluff and sweet gentle love and some angst. No smut censored version linked in the author’s notes. Enjoy :)
Relationships: Becky Barnes/Tom Houston
Comments: 28
Kudos: 13





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I’ve written this in one day lmao don’t judge the quality. A censored (no smut) version of this fic is available here: https://www.notion.so/Where-It-s-Only-You-and-Me-Censored-7e686b22a1f44ed0875e69074b4282f8

The smithy was so hot and hazy with smoke and steam that Tom barely noticed Lord Stanley and his lady wife till they were standing right in front of his anvil. His master tapped his shoulder nervously and Tom dropped the hammer from his grasp onto the stone ground, bowing.

"My lord," he muttered with all the courtesies he could still find in himself. "My lady."

The lord looked at him like he was no grander than the specks of soot floating about the small room. The lady did not look at him at all − but then, she never did, not where others could have noticed. There was a place where they lived and lied and Tom knew very well not to thread it too close to danger.

"You’ll shoe the horses of the castle," the master told Tom. "And right away. Our lord Spencer tells me they were to be done by yesterday, you fool."

Another lie. Lord Stanley Spencer had a particular dislike for Tom which he never bothered to hide or tame. It couldn’t have been that he knew more than he let on, for if he had, he would have had Tom’s head chopped off. It couldn’t be either that Tom was a neglectful smith − he was out of apprenticeships for several years now but, though not a master himself for he lacked the funds, he was just as skilled as his master and twice as strong. The horses had been scheduled for overmorrow and he was certain of it. A poor smith’s word against a lord’s still weighed very little and less.

"And make sure you don’t break their legs, boy," Lord Stanley said viciously in his cold drawling voice. "It’d be a pity to have to break yours in return."

Tom was only a handful of years younger than Lord Spencer, and much larger and stronger at the shoulders too, but in Hatchetfield there was not a lad or a lass who wasn’t a child to be scolded and punished by the fierce rod of their sovereign lord. This included Lady Rebecca as well. Lord Stanley had never liked his wife, not one day since she had been thrown in his arms by parents eager to marry a third daughter so well with a minor lord. He resented her for how well she pretended the part of a loving wife and all the more for how beloved she was among the people of his town, praised by all for giving frequent alms and visiting the ill or the elderly. He could never forgive her for being an exemplary saint of kindness and for that, he tried every day to bring her down and everything she loved with it.

"I’ll be right over, my lord," Tom said just as coldly. "They’ll be shoed by sunset."

Stanley gave him a disdainful glance on his way out but it was forgotten in an instant as Lady Rebecca lingered there to smile reassuringly.

"I’m so sorry, Tommy," she muttered.

Tom shrugged, smiled back. There were worse things to do to a person than work. She knew that more than anyone. Her hand twitched by her side but he could not still it with his own, not with the master looking and with Lord Spencer whistling at her to come as if she were a dog in his kennel. She threw Tom one last look and trotted away. Her step was light and nimble. Any other fine lady would have soiled the folds of her dress with the black dust covering all parts of the smithy but the green gown was as immaculate on her way out as it had been when she had walked in. Another small detail to admire about her, another pretty thing to marvel at. Everything she did, Lady Rebecca did with grace.

Once they were out, the master gave a slap to the back of Tom’s head and he yelped in protest.

"I ought to take away your week’s wages," he growled, though in the next breath he was helping Tom gather the supplies he would need. "Do you think the shop deserves this kind of attention, Tommy? Do you think it helps our trades?"

Tom gave no reply, for none was needed. He knew he was not at fault – not about the horses – but it wasn't in his cards to protest for justice. He would much rather be alive and in the wrong. He would much rather live under Lady Rebecca's husband's furious rule than be deprived of the sight of her for eternity.

In the yard he crossed to the stables, he caught sight of her all the way across at the marketplace, looking at a set of embroidered shawls a little girl was selling. Lady Rebecca had a smile for everyone, always a kind word to say and Tom saw her slip a heap of coins into the girl's hand, enough to pay for a month's expenses at the least. He wondered what her lord might say if he caught her at charity again, but Lady Rebecca was ever more clever not to get caught disobeying. She had a tender heart, but an intelligent mind to guide it.

"And so, my friends, we see each other early," he told the horses upon entering the stables. "Have you missed me?"

If there was any part of the work that he enjoyed, then surely the horses would be it. There was a quiet strength to them, something stable that calmed him if he could find the same within himself to keep them happy. Always, he remembered his days out at war when he had been just a boy. He had slept in mountains of hay on the field, warmed by the horses around him as they had been his only comfort. Twice he had gone to war, forged weapons and shields and shoed the horses of knights just as scared as he had been. The battle had never caught up to him, not in deeds but he still felt the terror of the distant clamor neverending if he let himself close his eyes a moment. The horses were just another sort of innocents trapped in the battle they never asked for. They were his peers, whether that made any sense or not. He patted their back as he walked to the forge in the corner, stroked them between their nostrils with some kindness if nobody would grant him the same.

He worked all morning, only stopping at noon to grab a bowl of stew and a chunk of fresh bread from the inn, where it was cheapest. He ate as alone as he always did, taking the smiles Jane paid him from the table she shared with her sister in the other corner and giving some of his own, but making no otherwise effort to approach her. Tom was rather well liked in town, though he could not have named any man or woman he would consider a good friend. He lived in a single room above the smithy he rented for a fair price. Often, he had thought he should very much like to take up a wife and raise children, but he never had done so. Offering up his own heart would have been a lie, for it was already taken. And if he couldn't have _her_ , he would not let himself have another instead and give out but a fainter, lesser version of himself. There was relief in the solitude of being true to his heart. He left Jane to her pretty smiles and her sulking sister and went back to work.

"It's folly to have come here," he told the shape in the shadows of the stables before even making her out for certain. "You had better go back to the castle, my lady."

Lady Rebecca pulled down the pretty shawl covering her hair, which was shiny even in the semi darkness of the forge and which Tom knew was so, so soft between his fingers if he dared to reach out. He dared not now. She gave him a coy smile and stepped close, too close for propriety. They had passed the point of proper relations many years ago. Her hands flattened against his chest, palming the roughspun fabric of his tunic.

"I've bought the bard's silence," she said in a low hush that matched his. "William's a good man, we'll hear him from the yard before any intruder even comes near the door." Her fingers tapped a slow drum at his torso, between impatient and nervous. "Are you that eager to send me away, Tommy?"

Tom caught her hands in his, pulling them to his heart, and wrapped an arm around her waist to press her close. It was crude and uncouth to hold her so, to soil the virtue of a proper lady, to dare touch the soft expensive fabric with his skin black with smithing work, but Lady Rebecca would not do without being held snug. He had learned that well enough, as it was his greatest pleasure to provide such embraces, forbidden as they were.

"Never, my lady," he said and kissed her soft fingers pale with being cooped up inside the castle walls all day. "I could see you every day for a thousand years and still crave you on the one day without."

"And I would want you all the more on any such day as well," she said.

She stood to her tippy toes to press her lips to his. Tom could never tire of it, how soft and neat and proper she was, the feel of her small form in their embrace, the taste of her lips like the best most expensive brew that filled up his mind with wonders. He didn't understand how it was that she liked him, but he had the evidence of it right in his arms every time she came to prove her feelings. Loneliness might have been chief among them, but not just.

"Lord Spencer is gorging himself with his court," she whispered. A tug at Tom's collar, as if trying to pry the tunic open without the effort of pulling it off. "He's in his drinks already and won't know his wife from his dogs till the morning."

"He’s a dog himself if he can’t tell. There’s no finer sight in all the realm."

She cocked her head at him quite teasingly. Her tongue darted out to wet her pretty pink lips and she smiled.

"But will you behold it, then?"

He needed but one breath of hesitation. Leading her by the hands, he drew her to a corner of the stables less in plain sight from the entrance, an empty box unused for many months. There, he made to lay her down in fresh clean hay but Lady Rebecca had caught the hem of his tunic and this time, she truly wanted it off. His reward was the touch of her hands on his burning hot skin as soon as the garment left him bare. He was sweaty and smelly and dirtier than most, but in her arms he felt like a charming prince who kissed his pretty bride.

"This is madness," he muttered at her lips. "They’ll cut off my head before dusk falls."

She was tugging him closer, trapping herself underneath him and it was an outrage, such a noble and admirable lady lying there in a stable like she was no greater thing than a common mead wench, but when her fingers pulled at the strings holding up his trousers, he forgot that he wanted to protest.

"Your head?" She asked as she took him in her palm to feel him harden at her touch, "Or your cock?"

He groaned with more passion now, the softness of her fingers around him matching the crude words at her lips, the tender eyes gazing up at him like he was the mightiest of lords. He kissed her, pressed his tongue into her mouth and when they mingled together, he could have forgotten he was a poor dumb smith. He wondered if she forgot herself too, if there was any lady left in her heart when she stroked him rock hard. Surely there must be some, for that was all he could see.

"Though I should hope not," she said, squeezing. "Such a fine part of yourself, Tommy, it’d be a pity."

His hand seized hers to pull it away and have her hold onto his shoulders instead. All the same, his kisses ventured down, teasing the neck where she smelled the most like herself, the finest, her breasts through the fabric he dared not open for fear she would not dress so easy again should they be warned for intruders. He tucked himself back into his trousers one handed and the other pushed up her skirts and petticoats, far too many layers to keep him from his prize.

"If I die of this, I’ll have lived a good few years in your arms, my lady," he muttered, a little afraid to look at her sometimes when he let out such sentimentalities. "But I don’t intend to be caught, if we keep quiet."

Lady Rebecca was parting her legs to him and he wondered how to hold such a promise. He could see the sight every day and still it would be a miracle, the fine shape of them, the skin softest between her thighs, the dark red of the curls of hair he pressed his face into and gave a kiss just like he would at her lips. She sighed comfortably and leaned back into the hay.

"Oh, how you please me, Tommy…"

Lord Stanley had been a brute again. She never mentioned it, not if Tom didn’t pry it out of her and out of privacy, he seldom did. The skin so fair, so tender was stained with a bruise at her right thigh and his heart clenched at the thought that there might be more hiding underneath the corset, the pretty ornate sleeves of thin green silks. He loved her more fiercely in these moments, knowing that his affection was to weigh against the hate of a spiteful man. She was wet under his tongue, in the kisses he pressed there, and held his shoulders so very tight he thought she’d have to wash her hands from a coarse layer of soot and dirt. He wanted her to lose herself in the good love he paid her, to forget the husband she would have to go home to.

"If only you’d let me," he whispered regretfully, "I'd plant a sword right through his empty heart."

She tensed up and only eased back into his caress, into the push of a finger inside where she was loose and willing. He pressed in another and she whimpered, but her eyes were veiled and he knew he had spoken out of turn. The lady was kind, though, even on such a man as him. Perhaps especially on him, for the soft spot she had for him and his strong hands and the love that flowed so plentiful from his heart.

"You say such things to the wrong person, my dear, and they’ll have you dead, no joking about. And me as well, I fear."

She touched his face, a finger trailing from his temple to his cheek where the thick stubble of his beard met with her skin, the shape of his ear, a curl of hair above it. He could have laid there for hours or for days and taken such sweet touches. They were softer than he deserved.

"And I love you so dearly, I can’t bear to think of it."

He blinked lazily. The same fear lived in both of them, he knew, of losing each other one day. A very different monster haunted them, the memories of his past and the terror of her present, and perhaps for that reason they were driven to one another. There was a void to fill in him, a part of him that always needed comforted, that was never soothed, but in Lady Rebecca’s arms, it was tamed for a moment of bliss whenever they would have it. He could only hope she felt the same, though he thought he knew so already.

"It’s just that you’re the fairest lady of all, my angel," he said, as he knew it pleased her to receive words of tenderness. "The loveliest by far."

There was a smile hidden in her sad eyes, he know, buried deep.

"And sweeter than honey, too," he muttered and tasted her once more to prove it. "And I wish for you to be free as a honeybee flying around."

She was not. She might never be. In his arms, though, he could not tell the difference. He pulled a leg over his shoulder to better kiss her, this part of her which was better than any treat, no matter how fancy. His caresses had left her pulsing hot and swollen under his tongue, but he wanted to give her more and better till she was as satiated as him. His heart was telling him sweet tales of folly and only in these moments did Tom listen. If not for when he loved her with his hands and his lips and his mouth, he knew not to hope.

"I wish I’d been born a king."

Lady Rebecca chuckled and combed fingers through his hair with fondness. Her smile was realer now, more sincere.

"No king would have wanted the third daughter of a merchant, no matter how wealthy or fair."

Her breath was heavy with the touch of his lips pursing around her, with the love letters he wrote with the tip of his tongue, though he had never learned to read or write.

" _I_ would have," he retorted and wasn’t it something grand, to be dreaming together of a life they had never had? "But our kings are idiots, my lady."

He caught a hand in his and brought it to his lips to press kisses there too, the sight of her fingers on herself intoxicating before she pulled them away to hold his face again. With his thumb, he traced the shape of her golden rings.

"I wish I could pay for these and give them to you," he told her.

He kissed her. He licked her, tasted her, was high and drunk from her and the moans she rewarded him with whenever his face pressed between her legs. They could never make love, they never would, for if Lord Stanley had had her all these years and not been able to give her children, they knew it would be madness if her belly now grew big with a babe who might be born to look just like Thomas Houston the blacksmith. All the same, he loved her just as much when she clamped around his fingers than he would have if it had been around his cock. So long as she was pleasured, that was just as well to him.

"You made them," she noted, and it was true that the goldsmith had taught Tom a few tricks, too, before retiring and leaving Tom to swords and horseshoes and knives and nails at the blacksmith.

"And yet in all my life I couldn’t afford them. I wish I could cover you with pretty things, and also…"

She was close, he could tell, for Tom knew her nearly by heart. There was that particular look in her eyes, the way her hips pushed into his mouth ever so slightly, how the shame dropped from her for a brief moment, how she breathed heavier, more rapidly. The pulse of her racing heartbeat under his lips.

"Also to lay you down you in a soft, deep featherbed and…"

She finished his thought for him.

"And _fuck_ me."

He would not have had the audacity to say it so crudely.

"And that, yes."

It was a dangerous game they played that could cost them both their life and that line was their clear cut boundary never to be crossed. But how they wanted to, how ardently they craved to. His cock was hard as steel in his trousers at the mere thought of it.

"I’d want that very much, Tommy," she said.

If they couldn’t, at least he gave her the best kisses he could, the push of his fingers and though they were both wanting, they kept coming back to each other for just a taste of not-enough. Lady Rebecca came under his tongue with a moan she bit silent and Tom didn’t feel like he was missing out on anything just so. He felt like he was being given plenty and more. The breath quieted down, her chest only now softly falling and rising again, her legs loose around his shoulders. She stared at him for a moment before she beckoned him to her. They kissed and he loved how she kissed the taste of herself from his lips. A hand at his crotch again was no longer barred.

"Sit here, if you will," she asked of him and Tom sat where she pointed so that she could kneel down between his legs. He feared for her comfort, that she might hurt her knees on tough stone ground, but she proved him often that she was made of stronger stuff than he supposed. "And now let me have you…"

Her hands worked wonders on him, all the more when she teased kisses too at the head, wet with the touch of her tongue. Tom let out a sharp breath and his hands clasped the rough straw underneath. He hoped she had not been too uncomfortable just before when she had laid here.

"You wish for a title or for riches," she told him, "But I long for a simpler life."

She took him in her mouth, the tip of him, the pretty sight of such pink lips around his cock. Her cheeks were flushed from the pleasure lingering, her hair was a cascade of autumn leaves. She was resting her elbows on his thighs with all the leisure in the world, taking her time to enjoy him.

"If I were your wife," she said in between kissing and sucking, "I’d keep your home, I’d carry your burden."

He touched her arms in a slow stroke up and down − not her face, for she loathed to be held there when she was between his legs and Tom wanted nothing that would upset her. The round of her shoulder, a perfect shape, the soft wave of her hair. He smiled down at her.

"I’ve lived on my own for many years, my lady," he said softly. It was an obscene sound to hear, the way she gulped him down, trying to take as much of him as she could, and his stomach was buzzing with how it affected him like a swarm of butterflies. "I can clean up for myself and I’ve no need of a servant."

Wasn’t that another pretty sight, her smiling face next to the length of his cock as she stroked her fingers up and down him, as she caressed him with the press of her lips. There was something joyful about her that awakened when they came together and it made him wonder how any person might ever treat her as poorly as her lord husband. Surely, someone so loving, so giving was meant to be adored and nothing short. And if she were his wife…

"I wouldn’t want you to do a thing for me, only keep me company," he said, "Except perhaps nurse and lull a babe or two."

"And you’d share my bosom with them, I’m sure," she said with some snark he so loved on her. "I’d take you to bed to soothe your long days away, dear Tommy."

One moment they were grinning at each other, then the next they weren’t. It was foolish to think that life would ever let them live those dreams. In these brief hidden moments, they could pretend they were close at hand. The truth always caught up and it tasted bitter sweet. His lady love closed her lips on him again, kissed him till he spilled down her throat, and when she pumped the last of him and then tucked him away and tied his pants again, she was Rebecca Spencer, née Barnes, the wife of a terrible, horrible monster of another man again, and the dreams faded into the afternoon air of the Hatchetfield stables. At least William had not had to pluck his lute to warn from any intruder by the time she disappeared. Tom sighed. The horses still needed shoeing.

They had known this life for several years. The guilt of their secret crippled him from day to day as much as it helped him through every painful moment. She had come to him first, of course, for he would have never dared to approach a noble lady with the lustful desires of his heart. She had been hesitant too, though less so the more she realized how much Tom had been craving her and not just the pretty face and soft hair. They understood each other perfectly from the gaping distance that could never be breached.

It was a miracle from heavens or hell that they had yet to be caught. Of course, Lord Stanley was neglectful and at best disinterested in his wife. Of course, Tom had no spouse to give account to and was free for Lady Rebecca’s attentions whenever she would bestow them. He would never take a wife, no matter how tempting the kind words of Jane Perkins, how she flattered him. Not even for a pair of pretty eyes would he betray Lady Rebecca. Every day, he had to see her by her husband’s side, every day he had to know she suffered at his hand. It would only be too selfish to flaunt some domestic happiness in her face, it would be improper to marry if he loved another better. If his lady found no solace at home, then neither could he. That was the way of life and life was not a fair game.

He was not the one dealing the hands, however.

She came to him in the dead of night some weeks later, frightened and pale as a ghost. The knock was frantic though as low as she could make it and still be heard by him. He might have believed it a trick of the wind if for the caution in his heart he could not explain. Lady Rebecca's hands clung to his from the moment he opened her the door and she crashed into his arms with great anguish.

"Lady... Lady Rebecca?"

A hundred terrible reasons might have explained such an odd late night visit, the risk of being seen out of the castle in a compromising position with him - which meant here with him at all, as there was no proper way to excuse her presence in his quarters at any time. All of these reasons were a great cause to worry and Tom's heart twisted painfully in his chest as he held her as close as he could. She was shaking with silent sobs and he kissed the crown of her head to try and imprint her with his affections and soothe her.

"Oh, Tommy, what have I done…"

The sudden fear came to him that she would have done something reckless. So much talk of a sword through Lord Spencer’s heart, but Tom had never meant for his darling lady to do any such thing. There was no blood on her, though, and no sign of any struggle. He did not know what to think. The only thing was now to comfort her. Perhaps another battle of words between the lord and the lady, perhaps another burst of violence that was kept well hidden underneath her gowns.

"My love," he whispered at her ear, "My lady, what do you want of me?"

Her fists were clenching his nightshirt desperately and her face was wet with tears when she looked up at him. She sniffed and he rubbed the tears from her eyes with his thumbs, held her face close in his palms.

"Tommy, we have to leave," she said in a low shaking voice that allowed for no other plan. "And we cannot come back."

It took but a few moments. Tom realized as he was packing away how little his life had been anchored in Hatchetfield, if it weren’t for the woman in his footsteps helping him put away his meager possessions. A change of clothes was all he owned, his savings he hid in the mattress, some food, a knife he kept for protection. She had but her gown on her and all the coins she had been able to take with her as she had escaped the castle at the darkest hour. She had him, though, as he had her. That was all they truly needed.

They stole a horse from the stable, a strong and young one with a dark mane that Tom petted gently as he shoved their things into the saddlebags as hastily as he could. He shushed words of comfort and he did not know whether the horse or the lady needed them most. She was trembling when he hoisted her up the horse and sat behind her. His arms were a loving embrace, but most importantly a safeguard and he kept her secure between them as they rode out of Hatchetfield on the less traveled roads through the northern gate. He had never been much of a horse rider, but for her he would be anything in the world.

Lady Rebecca was leaning on him so much it was more like slumping and Tom made sure she was sitting straight, that she would not slip and fall. Her head was resting against his chest and he thought on how much he liked it there, how much he wanted to keep her safe and protected in his arms. He wondered what she had done, but he knew he would not ask if she never told him. He knew that at the deepest, it made no difference to him at all.

"I love you so very much, Tommy," she whispered to a cold and silent night sky. "I hope you know."

He kissed the top of her head and passed the reigns to one hand to wrap his arm around her waist. His palm flattened on her stomach protectively and Lady Rebecca nestled close.

"And I love you, my lady," he replied. "More than anything in the world."

He let some time pass before speaking again.

"Are we to ride all night?"

She nodded as lazily as if he had been asking if she had slept well, or if she wanted eggs for breakfast, or if she had seen her sisters recently. He supposed he would ride all night.

They stopped at dawn after hours of gallop and walked the horse through fields and forests to let him rest some. One hand was clasped at the horse’s reigns, the other clung to very tightly by Lady Rebecca who would not lose him for a moment. She was wearing a shawl over her hair again and he thought that if they were running from anyone, covering up the rare sight of her red hair wasn’t too bad an idea. Surely, there weren’t many fair ladies with orange hair fleeing the law in the region.

"I’ve bought us a few days," she said eventually in a voice so robbed from all her usual tenderness he barely recognized it.

He looked at her, but Lady Rebecca was staring ahead at the wooded horizon. His hand squeezed hers. He was listening, if only she would speak.

"He’ll wake up ill in the morning in just a while," she said. "But I think the disappearing of his lady will be greater cause of worry than the sickness. We’re far enough, though, I hope."

How singular, Tom thought, that all their hopes and dreams had seemed so distant and foolish, yet now that they were on their own, now that Lord Stanley had no hold on her, everything about the situation was very normal to him. He was not worried, not very. He trusted the lady at his side and her judgment, he trusted himself to give every last breath to protecting her if it should come to that.

"He’ll get worse over the week and my hope is that they will stop the search and instead seek out physicians from here and there."

Tom realized he was acutely aware of everything. It reminded him of the war field, always on the edge, always pushed to the extremes of anxiety and anguish, except he felt no sorrow now. He was at peace, but actively aware of being so, of every part of his body and everything that surrounded it. The morning dew starting to pearl, the fresh air prickling his skin, the warmth of her hand in his. The meaning of her words.

"Then one day soon, he won’t wake up at all."

She said that with complete detachment, like the results were entirely separate from their cause, yet all at once she was in tears again and she pressed her face to his chest, stopped walking.

"Tommy, what have I _done_?"

He held her as close as he could without crushing her and kissed the tears away from her cheeks. She was so fragile in his embrace, yet the strongest person he had ever known.

"Nothing that oughtn’t have been done, my lady," he told her. "You’ve been very brave. I love and admire you."

They rode again after many kisses and letting the horse have some water, some grass. All day long they rode in the hope of running away faster than the justice of Hatchetfield would catch them. Lady Rebecca knew the roads better than him, for he had never travelled, and he trusted her to guide them through the less risky parts of the realm, the ones least expected. Finally, when dusk came again, they stopped for the night. She had dozed off in his arms a few times during the day, but he knew she was still exhausted. He supposed that he was tired too, though he could hardly feel it, so fiercely he wished to keep her safe.

"We’ll hide the horse," he said. "He’s a good lad, he won’t give us away."

He looked at the ground underneath. They were in the middle of some forest and there wasn’t much comfort to be had, but still he tried to find the softest moss to lie their blankets on and to give the lady the best spot of all. They ate some, though they dared not light a fire. Stars were peeking through thick foliage. When it was time to rest, he laid on his back and Lady Rebecca cuddled close to lay her head on his chest. Her fingers traced circles against his belly and he wrapped his arms around her.

"Thank you, Tommy," she said softly after a while.

He kissed her hair to show gratitude − no thanks were ever needed from her. Still, she stirred and pulled herself to her elbows to look at him.

"How is it," she asked, "That you would give up your life just like that without a moment of hesitation? Leaving the past behind can be so brutally hard."

He smiled and brushed a strand of hair behind her ear. His thumb stroked the round of her cheek.

"For you, my lady, it’s the easiest thing in the world."

They looked at each other and in the next breath they were kissing and Tom was desperate to prove how devoted he was, how entirely dedicated to her happiness, but when his kisses traced down her neck to her breast and lower, she stopped him there to beg him to her mouth again. Straddling him, she kissed him like they had not kissed in a hundred years, so fiery her passion. Her hair tickled his neck and he held her face close to him.

"Love me then, my darling, and let us never be parted again."

He would love her more than she asked, he already did, and he tried to pour some of his heart into every kiss. Lady Rebecca was eager to feel skin under her palms even in the chill of the forest at night and Tom let the tunic be peeled off of him obediently. She wanted the trousers off and he let her tug them down. She presented him her back.

"Unlace me, dear," she whispered and Tom unlaced her corset with numb excited fingers.

Her breasts were a sight he had rarely beheld, too pressed for time or for safety to undress each other whole. There was no one in the world who would come between them now and he was filled with a certitude that they would not be found, not this night and not any other night. Her breasts were soft and round in his hands, delicate under his lips as he pressed kisses to one, then the other. He flicked his tongue at a nipple before sucking it into his mouth and she wrapped her arms around his shoulders to keep him there. Her voice spoke gently at his ear.

"If you’ll have me," she said with some hesitation, "I would have you make love to me tonight, Tommy. I would like that very much."

He looked at her. Standing, he was taller, but they were of a height when she sat straddled on his lap. His cock was poking hard between them lost in a sea of fabric pooled at her waist. Her fingers touched him very faintly, as if she was afraid to manipulate him if her caress was too bold.

"My lady, if you’ll let me," he said and hated the sound of his voice, how weak it sounded but Lady Rebecca made him a most tender man, "I would have you every night henceforth till the end of my days."

She stroked him tighter now, more determined and Tom glanced down to see the sight of her pretty fingers wrapped snug around him. He had seen that many times before, but it was different tonight. No night had ever been remotely similar. He pushed the fabric aside to find wetness between her legs and she moaned to encourage him. The touch of his palm grinding against her, knuckles dipping in the heat beneath to please her, and Lady Rebecca was ready for him.

"Look into my eyes and never look away, my darling," she told him.

She pressed their hips close together to guide him inside and took her time taking him, but the look she gave him once they were joined was almost as exhilarating as the knowledge that they were now bound as one. What was done could never not have happened again, it would always live in their past and, as of now, in the delicious present. Tom caught his arms around Lady Rebecca and kissed her very softly.

"I love you," he whispered, his forehead resting against hers. "I’ve always loved you."

She was deliciously hot around him, wet too though a little tight and he thought that the next time, he ought to prepare her more, to finger and kiss her nice and loose for her pleasure and comfort. Still, her hands at his shoulders, she was a creature from heaven above as she kissed him and made love to him in the most exquisite ways Tom had never imagined. She was slow and for that he was grateful, for he thought he would have burst like a green boy if she had ridden him too fast.

"And I love you, Tommy," she replied and kissed him.

Their bodies moved and rolled with one accord, their breaths matching up and mingling together between kisses. Every time she lowered herself onto him again, his hips pushed up to deepen the contact and to better it, her lips pressed heavenly kisses against his, her breasts rubbed against his torso. Many years of getting himself acquainted with her body, yet he felt he was discovering it all new again. All that mattered was to please her once more, now as ever, and his fingers dipped between them to touch her with every thrust. She moaned his reward into the kiss and poured more passion into their endeavors than ever.

"Almost…"

When she came, Tom felt like the universe had exploded around him, like the grip of his own fate had tightened on him and was clamping tight with the promise of excellent tomorrows. Before he realized how close he was, he was spilling inside of her, bucking up a few last times before coming to a still, holding her close. Slow fingers brushing up and down at her arms, then their bodies unlocked and he laid down on the blanket again, bringing her with him to hold her.

"Oh, Tommy…"

He noticed that she was crying and his gut twisted with guilt and with the urge to soothe her. Her face buried in his chest, making a wet snotty mess on him but Tom didn’t care, couldn’t care. All that mattered was to hold her close and whisper all sorts of sweetness to her that he could find in him to utter. He petted her hair and pressed kisses at her temple, at her cheeks. She cried out all the more and, cupping his face full in her palms, brought their lips together to kiss him more truly than ever before.

"I’m so scared they’ll find us," she whimpered, "I could never live without you. After this, I… I couldn’t."

"It’s all going to be alright," he said and in this moment he believed it. "You’ll be safe, my lady."

With the flat of his thumb, he rubbed tears from her eyes and Lady Rebecca sniffed. The sorrow was making her eyes glisten under moonlight. If it hadn’t broken his heart, he might have found it pretty.

"I’m not a lady," she retorted. "Not anymore. I don’t want to be."

Tom tried to arrange the blanket around them and especially around her, that she may be comfortable, that she may rest easy, but it was a hard task to ask from a thin layer of coarse fabric.

"You’ll always be a lady to me," he said softly. "And that’d be so even if you’d been a peasant from birth."

She dried her tears into the soft kisses he gave her and, though cold and scared and on alert, he managed to bring her some comfort as he made sure she was tucked warmly into his embrace, which he gave with all his heart, with all the love he had born for her all these years. She was a small thing, for how brave and fierce she was, and she could lay solely on top of him so that he took the cold and hard ground to be her featherbed. Her face found the crook of his neck and he felt the soft kiss of her breath against his skin.

"We’ll be found out within the week if I’m still Lady Rebecca to you," she said. "I cannot live and remain Rebecca Barnes or Spencer, they’ll have my head. I must find another name."

"Take mine," he offered without a heartbeat’s worth of thinking. "We’ll pretend to be husband and wife, you’ll be safer under my name."

She looked up at him and even in the moonlight, even with dawn piercing through faintly in the distance, he could make out the tenderness of her gaze. Her fingers reached out to touch his hair, twirling them between her knuckles and he felt very calm.

"Houston," she whispered with awe. "Rebecca Houston. Becky Houston."

She smiled and gave him a kiss. Tom could not feel the cold anymore.

"I think I can do that, Tom."


	2. Into a new life

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tom and Rebecca carve their own path out there in the world and find a peaceful happy life somewhere they never know fear.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wasn’t particularly envisioning the fic as a series but the inspiration just struck for a second part! That’s it, though, this reaches a happy conclusion and I won’t go further. Hope you enjoy :) A censored no smut version of this chapter is available here but please do leave a comment if you read this one! https://www.notion.so/Where-It-s-Only-You-and-Me-Chapter-2-Censored-7b1d858440894426a690e97d341f2e8a

They rode for two weeks without coming across another soul. Nature was their secrecy and in the green of fields and forests, nobody could tell the deeds they were running from. All day, they rode and Lady Rebecca slept some in the comfort of his arms, for she insisted on keeping watch at night to let him rest. In the morning, he woke with fingers combed softly through his hair and low whispers, and they set out to ride again. The horse was quiet, but fast and reliable and every evening, Tom tried to find some fruit from bushes and trees around to reward him for his help. Then he laid down next to his lady love again and rested with some difficulty. Fear was marring every day despite the comfort they brought one another.

The first time they entered a village, he thought he might become unwell and faint from the thought that they would surely be followed by rumors and found out. In his heart, he did not think they would be but the possibility of it kept him on his best guard and he was careful with every word he addressed to any townsman and especially to Lady Rebecca in front of them. It had been a little easier to keep himself from fretting on the road but when meeting other people with their faces plain in sight, the anxiety was more nagging. They bought more food, a map, some plainer clothes for Lady Rebecca, they washed what they had already become sullied by their travel but when the laundry was dry and they were asked if they would spend the night, he felt her tense up and politely declined the offer, naming a random and false destination they were to reach soon. They camped some distance away from the village and Lady Rebecca showed him how to read the map, though the names of the towns and villages were incomprehensible for his illiterate eyes.

"This is Hatchetfield," she told him and pointed to a small dot. Some inches farther, she showed him another mark. "And this is where we are now."

The distance made him feel safer, yet they still decided to avoid the rest of civilization till they had ridden many more miles. He felt safest of all when Lady Rebecca had her arms around him and covered him with gentle kisses, of course, but he was eager for a moment when they could do that in a place where they wouldn’t fear their names and faces recognized everywhere they went. They would ride on and on till they reached that place.

One morning, it began to drizzle. Tom covered Lady Rebecca with his cloak as they rode their horses but the poor beast was struggling and slipping onto mud. By noon his sorrow was so evident they decided to stop for the poor animal’s safety and their own, should anything happen to him.

"We’ll spend the night at an inn," he suggested. "I don’t reckon the sky will clear up till the morrow."

Lady Rebecca took one glimpse up at the sky and droplets fell right on her nose, which she rubbed away.

"No," she said, "I don’t suppose it will."

They stopped at the closest town, which was larger than Hatchetfield. Tom was wary of it at first but Lady Rebecca comforted him with the notion that they might have better chances at anonymity in a bigger town, losing themselves in crowds when out and about. They bought more reserves, a new axe for Tom to chop wood at night, for they had stopped being so afraid of lighting a fire, and booked a room for the night with arrangements for the horse in the stables of the inn.

"Aye," the innkeeper said, nodding with the friendly smile of someone who loved new company. "We have a good room still vacant above the kitchen. Very pretty one and the warmest you’ll ever find for you and your wife, and cheap too, my lad."

"Is that alright, then, Becky?" He asked Lady Rebecca, trying to make his tone as natural as he could.

She nodded, pressing herself into his side as she stood there, very tired from their day under the rain.

"That’s perfect," she told him and seemed to truly believe so.

He smiled at her and turned back to the innkeeper, taking the key he was handing and following him up a flight of solid wooden stairs. The last door of the landing led them to the room, which was small but almost as lovely as promised and when they were on their own, he sighed against the closed doors in relief and began to step out of his muddy soaked clothes.

"I’ve aged a month since the morning," he said. "That pesky rain almost got the best of us. Do you think the horse will be alright?"

"I imagine he will," she replied. "He’s been of good service all this time."

Lady Rebecca was unwrapping the cloak from her shoulders and though her dress underneath was unsullied, it was damp too and she hung it with her stockings right next to his own garments. There was nothing left on them by the time they slipped under the bedcovers. The mattress was straw and a little scratchy, but it was better than earth and rock under his back. He had forgotten how it felt to go to sleep and not feel the cold biting him from underneath. Through the floor, they could hear the muffled clamor of the kitchen still in service for the evening’s supper.

"This is no featherbed, my lady, but I do feel warmer than I have in many days."

He had said something wrong, he knew at once from the look on her face, and he frowned.

"Tom," she told him softly and clasped a hand between her own, and Tom adored the gentleness with which she held him, how small and gentle her hands were around his big one rough from a life of work, "I’ve only one thing to ask of you."

"Anything," he said at once. "You can ask me for anything in the world and I’ll give it to you or die in the attempt."

She pressed his hand to her cheek and nuzzled it, then to her lips for kisses. Her eyes were large and the color of a clear summer sky and she blinked her pretty lashes.

"If we’re to be man and wife," she said with some hesitation and Tom held his arm snug around her waist to prove how devoted he was to the plans, "I’d ask you to believe it behind closed doors as well."

"Mmh?"

Her foot was toying with the hair at his calf, her toes tracing small circles. The comfort they shared with one another was growing every night and every day and in her hands, his body was well at peace and taken care of. They had made love every night since the first, at her initiation and his great pleasure.

"It’s only that when you still treat me like a fair lady when there’s no one to hear any better, I fear that you’re not truthful when you call me your wife in front of others."

His heart throbbed uncomfortably and he looked into her eyes, though Lady Rebecca was staring down at their hands still intertwined.

"I… I’m afraid I don’t understand. I had thought you could be both."

The conversation wasn’t going the way Lady Rebecca had intended it and she bit her lips nervously, then a sigh came out.

"I don’t _want_ to be both."

"Oh..."

He waited for her to speak and she took some time to formulate her thoughts better, but finally she explained herself.

"I just… I wish to leave the past solely in the past. The life of a lady, the riches, the status… I have no part in it anymore."

She leaned up on an elbow and looked at him. Slowly, she reached to hold his cheek in her palm and he rested into it cozily. She smiled. No place was as restful as in her good care.

"I’m your wife now," she said. "I want to be your wife. I want to be as commonly born as you and treated like any wife you would have taken from the village. Not just when we’re with others but for you to truly believe it."

She must have known he was still unsure, for her smile turned more teasing and her fingers tickled under his ear to make him smile at her.

"Don’t call me ’my lady’," she asked of him simply. "Call me by my name, like any husband would, like you did downstairs with the innkeeper. Let me be your Rebecca, your Becky."

He thought about it. It was no great change, but it was if she wished it, and he hoped he would not slip up and hurt her feelings again. He kissed the inside of her wrist as it was so close to his lips.

"Then so you shall be, my l… my love."

There was something timid about her smile which she soothed on her own by pressing her mouth to his and they embraced each other close.

"And you shall be my beloved husband," she said in a low excited voice. She hooked a leg over his hips to bring herself closer still. "Whom I've always adored."

"Always?"

He could not stop smiling. Rebecca flattened a hand against his chest and he hoped she could feel the strong pulse of his heart under her fingers. He certainly felt it in every part of himself.

"Always," she said and kissed his lips again. "And it’s no lie, either. A marriage is just pronouncing your love for God to hear and I imagine He was listening the many, many times we’ve uttered it."

She was always the clever one, he knew, perhaps indulging him with her wits for she knew he loved her all the more for it.

"If He wasn’t, I’ll say it plain if you wish so, that He may be sure. I’ll love you the rest of my life, my darling, and I’ll be your husband."

"And I’ll be your wife and love and cherish you as well."

They kissed, as if to seal the promise. Under the covers, facing each other on the pillows, they had all the comfort they could have wanted for in each other’s arms and he felt like a fulfilled married man already before they even had a home of their own.

"Let this be our wedding bed, then," she whispered at his lips.

Her hand slid down his stomach and he felt her fingers brush against his cock, taking him in her hand. He smiled wickedly.

"Do you know, Rebecca, how happy you’re making me?"

She stroked him and he felt himself harden in her palm.

"I could stand for you to remind me whenever you please," she said with a teasing smile.

Her legs parted to the press of his hand at her thigh and he pressed his face to her cheek and neck to feel her close against him as he touched her. The times they had made love in the privacy of nature now seemed cold and uncomfortable to him, though in the moment he had felt hot and as cozy as could be. He wondered how he would feel when he would have her in a featherbed of their own, with a roof over their head that was theirs only, a home where he could have her whimper as loud as he pleased without the fear of other patrons hearing through the thin walls. Still, the mattress was lumpy and coarse but it was a bed, a room that tonight was just theirs.

"We’ll seal this marriage," he said, "And there won’t be a soul in the world who doubts it. Come here, my Becky."

He mounted her on his lap, the best comfort he could grant her, though also for his own pleasure of the delicious way her breasts touched against his chest, the perfect shape of her body in the embrace of his arm as he kept her close. Between her legs, he was feeling her looser with every push of his fingers, with the caress of his thumb in heavy circles, and he shivered at the soft moans against his ear. His cock trapped between them was hard in her hand and craved her more than anything.

"I want you," she told him as she wrapped her arms around his shoulders and let him guide himself inside − for he always knew when and how she wanted him. "I’ve wanted you from the start."

Sheathed inside her at the deepest, he paused there an instant to let his heart catch him up. He kissed her temple, her cheek till she caught his lips with hers and kissed him with greater passion than any bride would have dared, not in the church assembly and not even on a first night of marriage. Tom and Rebecca were well past that.

"I know for sure now we spoke our truth," he said and felt silly for saying it, "Because there’s something godly about this."

She kissed him. Slowly, their hips moved together to create pleasure for both and he held her by the waist to anchor her better on him. He felt her wet and burning hot around him, a solace after the cold few weeks they had had, and she was looser with every moment as she indulged in him. Her breath mixed with his between kisses, a halo of warmth hazy around them.

"Promise me, Tom," she whispered at his lips. "Make me all the promises of tomorrow."

The passion and arousal was making her bolder. More than ever, there was no demand she could make of him that he didn’t want to give her, and tenfolds more than she asked. He kissed her and felt her breath hitch slightly with the push of his cock inside of her. The clench of her was a perfect snug vice, the only bliss he had ever known.

"I promise to love you," he said, hoping this was what she meant. "To make you happy, or to strive to every day of my life."

Her moans were greater bliss still and he loved the hurried way she was now lowering herself on him, given more cause to rush their pleasure towards a happy ending.

"And I promise to cherish you and provide for you, that you may never know fear again."

That was a promise he didn’t know he was capable of keeping, as the matters were largely out of his own hands, but he knew that every effort would be converging that way on his part. Rebecca took his promises like they were rock solid and tangible already, like their future was right at hand for them to pluck if they would dare to taste the fruit of happiness.

"I love you," she told him. "I feel so safe with you."

They kissed, now tender and devoted and in the next breath reckless and hot, and then back again. She was everything at once. Rebecca was not one thing or another, she was all, she was everything that was good in this world, everything worth living another day. When she came around him, there was nothing else that had ever mattered to him, no part of him that wasn’t fueled by the love in his heart, by a desire to be good to her and to treat her well and to let her feel so daring and loving in return. The look in her eyes more than anything else was what tipped him over the edge and he felt himself spilling inside of her before he ever meant to.

"I love you," he told her softly as they fell back more comfortably under the covers. "My beautiful bride."

It was a little hot in here, warmed up by their endeavors, but Tom would not have had it any other way. Perhaps, he thought, that after such rainpour and cold outside, they deserved an overindulgence in here. Perhaps that after a dark merciless night, the sun could shine again. In his arms, he looked down at Rebecca falling asleep with all the innocence of the world. He kissed her hair and she smiled in her sleep. He realized that he truly felt like a young groom on his wedding day. They weren’t so old after all, not yet in their thirties. There was still a whole life to be lived and he was ready to live it with his love.

"Tom," she told him softly when they were riding the horse leisurely one day, the last lulling stretch of the morning before stopping for noon.

She was turned to him, a hand steadying herself at the horse’s neck and mane, the other clutched in his shirt. Her face was pressed to his chest and a glance down told him her eyes were closed.

"Yes?"

She let out a sharp breath, something anxious and kept in, and Tom kissed the top of her head to show her she had no cause to worry, not for his reaction at the least.

"I think I might be with child."

He was lucky to sit atop the horse, for he thought he would have stopped in his tracks if he had had to support his own step then, or likely missed one or two. He felt his eyes widen, his pulse pick up rapidly, but Rebecca was not looking at him. He wondered if she was fearing his reaction. He wondered how much longer she would live in fear at all. Balancing the reigns in one hand, he pulled her close and stroked her back comfortingly.

"God is great," he said softly, "And has seen us fit. This is a blessing, my darling."

He kissed her hair again and breathed her in. She must have been greatly relieved, for she looked up at him and touched his face with soft fingers. He kissed her forehead and she smiled.

"I’m not certain," she muttered, a little shy about this. "But my blood hasn’t come since we left, though it should have twice by now. So I suspect…"

His hand slid to her stomach and stayed there protectively.

"We’ll need to settle somewhere," he said. "I’ll find work, I’ll provide for you and the child."

He smiled at her.

"We’ll be a family."

The quest for a place to stay became more urgent after this admission, though more joyful as well. Every time he picked her up to place her on the horse in the morning, the thought of being even more particularly careful filled him with happiness when he knew the reason why. When they rode and he had an arm around her, he felt giddy with the knowledge that a child of theirs was growing in his embrace. At night, he cherished her all the more as a token of gratitude for the gift of life, as he was in utter adoration of her and the future he could already imagine between them and the babe she was bearing him. In his dreams, he was already there.

They crossed borders in the dead of night to the next realm where they hoped the law would not find them. Tom barely spoke the language but Rebecca taught him the basics of it − she was well learned, of course, as well as any lady ought to be. He had never been much for talking in his native tongue anyways. They rode some more, well into this new land and as far away from any possible travellers from their country as they could, till finally after some weeks they reached a large city full of hope and promises.

They felt it at the same time, the way this place felt like home. It was an old city, history graved into every street and wall and allyway. It was beautiful, too, and verdant with ivy and flowers everywhere. When he enquired for jobs, he was told the goldsmith was out of a companion and was begging for recruits to teach and to train. That very first day, he applied for the position and the man gave him a smile, a slap on the shoulder, and the promise of work to feed the mouths of the family he was to have. With a letter of recommendation from him, they found a merchant who would let them make a loan and purchase one of the many houses he owned in town and they were allowed to move in that very same day.

The first time they stepped into their new home, the house they were sure would be known as the Houstons’ to everyone in town, the roof under which Tom hoped to create and share many happy memories till the end of his days, he was suddenly full with such happiness he swept up Becky in his arms and swirled her around. She burst into breathless giggles, begging him to let her down for the sake of her poor morning sickness, but paid him many kisses all the same.

"A real house," he sighed with contentment, "And ours, Becky. God willing, we’ll live here the rest of our lives."

The house came with a sturdy large table and several chairs, a hearth with an oven and a kitchen, a cozy, small but very warm bedroom on the upper floor with a deep featherbed. Never in his life had money been something Tom desired beyond his wish to see Rebecca in comfort and luxury. In this moment, he felt like they might as well have bought them a castle.

"The goldsmith called for me in the morrow for my training," he said, his arms still around Rebecca, who was grasping his collar and beaming up at him. "He gave me the day to get settled in."

"Sweep the floor and arrange this place for us, then," she told him, kissing him again. "And make our bed, for I intend to christen it."

Whatever meager possessions they had were stocked away tidily and Tom thought that even with the barest minimum, this place was already more of a home than he had known before. It would only become more so the longer they lived in it. When the house was cleaned up enough, when everything was as proper as if they were about to receive company (though today they were most decidedly not), Rebecca took him by the hands and led him up the stairs. Tom obeyed. He thought he would always obey her, anything she might say.

"Undress me, will you?" She asked of him.

Tom’s hands were frantic with excitement as he unlaced the back of her dress. It flopped to the ground in a pool around her and she had no time to step out of it, for Tom carried her in his arms in the short distance towards the bed. What a pretty sight she was laying there on the pillows, on the white freshly cleaned bedlinen. Her finger beckoned him to her and he made quick way of his clothes. The touch of her skin against his was all the reward for the pain of the past finally tamed under control, finally left only in sore memories and not in the present.

"How pretty you look under our very own roof," he said. "There’s a particular glow."

"And you," she said, begging for his kisses. "How especially handsome on this fine day."

Her arms wrapped around his shoulders to keep him snug against her and he loved her all the more for it, how close he felt to her when she held him, how much deeper the bond between them when she proved him day in and day out that she desired him so much. She was for him an object of worship, of love, and he pressed the kisses so wanted at her lips, her cheeks, her neck, and very soon at her breasts with a content sigh of anticipation. A nipple in his mouth, a hand cupping her breast like he had some precious treasure in palm − and indeed he did.

"They'll be swelling soon," she told him with a knowing smile, "Though I'll have another hungry mouth to feed then, my love."

He pressed his hand flat to her belly where her skin was most tender, so white and soft. There was no bump yet, but soon, very soon. He smiled and kissed her lips gently again. Rebecca covered his hand with hers. Life was growing but not fast enough to their taste.

"These hands were meant to hold a babe," he told her, caressing her fingers with his own. "These lips to sing it lullabies. I'm only taking my turn while I can."

A flash of darkness passed over her and he knew she was thinking of far different deeds her hands had done. He clasped his around them to soothe her and she looked into his eyes.

"Both," she said softly and pulled their hands to her mouth to kiss his knuckles. "I’ve been born to love you and to bear us a family."

Her legs tightened around his hips and he could sense she was craving closeness, and leaned down to kiss her.

"And to be happy for your own self as well," he said, suddenly contrite. "That’s as noble a goal as any."

She was toying with his hair, smiling up at him with such softness he felt it caressing his very soul, and brought their lips together and not even the subtle aftertaste of sorrow could spoil their love.

"When I’m with you, Tom, I can never not be happy. You’ve breathed life into me and now it’s for you to share and enjoy to your fill."

He wanted to please her. The only thing that made sense to him anymore was to be of service to Rebecca, to pamper her with attention and delight and he never ceased to marvel at how much she wanted him to, how sincerely she received every morsel of love sent her way. He kissed down her neck, her breasts again, giving her a very particular smile as he kissed down her stomach and hid the grin in the curls between her legs where he kissed her too.

"Oh, Tom…"

To have her here squirming under his tongue in a deep featherbed that was their own, in a house they would inhabit for the rest of their days if God allowed it, Tom was taken with the unadulterated joy of this makeshift marriage and groaned in contentment. He ate her like she was the very last meal of his life − but this was the first of this new life they were to lead here. This, if not the absolute beginning of the love between them, was a new reality they would settle into with delight and he wished to mark it well from the start.

"Always the finest treat, dear Rebecca," he said in a whisper just for her ears. "I could sustain on you alone."

She giggled softly and touched his hair, but he pressed his tongue a particular way inside and the laugh turned to moans again. Her eyes shone so well, so bright when she looked at him there, the very special tint of a love well received. Tom might have stayed in the soft vice of her legs for the rest of the day, of the year if he could.

"You love me too well," she said, "And you’re the sweeter one, even if you won’t admit it."

Her hands now gripped his shoulders as if to pull him closer and she bit her lip.

"But come here now, my darling, and make love to your wife."

More than ready for him, she was craving him and he was barely on top of her again that she wrapped fingers around his cock to beg him inside of her. The whimper she gave him when he was deep in her was so perfectly obscene he could only kiss her to have a taste of its adoration at her lips.

"You’re a roaring hearth in a cold winter night, my love," he told her in a low hush. "So warm and comforting."

"Are you the iron that pokes it?" She teased.

Her cheeks were crimson and perfect, framed by the loose waves of her red hair, all around too lovely. A true furnace, a flame that burned him up with love and passion.

"I'd write better verses if I could," he said with a smile, "But you'd outsmart me all the same."

"Then say no more, Tom, and let your heart tell its own story."

"I can do that," he promised.

All the comfort in the world could be found in this bed, all that was good and pure and excellent. Surely there was some divine will here at play too in the way their bodies were attuned to one another in perfect harmony. He made the best love to her he could muster, she took him even better and repaid every kiss with soft caresses − though not always so innocent and more than a little bold at times. He loved the way she pressed herself into the thrusts of his hips, the way she clung to his shoulders, his neck, how deep her hands buried in his hair, holding tight. In her eyes, he was certain he saw only a mirror of what he was feeling, the immeasurable satisfaction of having finally found peace and rest. Moved by a surge of frenzied heat, he pressed his face to her neck to feel her closer to him and gave every last bit of strength he had to the love they made. A hurried pace but nothing she didn’t want just as much as him.

"I can feel how dearly you’ve wanted this, Becky," he whispered against her ear and she moaned at such obscenities and rocked herself up into him with even greater vigor. "I can feel it right around me, it’s drenching."

What a fine first night that would make, soaking the bed with their pleasure and having to air it out in the morning.

"And I can feel how hard you are," she replied and perhaps Tom’s cock was made all the harder from her words. "Nothing has ever roused me so deep."

He grunted and was taken by a force more beastly than manly, the urge to feel her pleasure under him, for the roll of their hips together to finally come to a blissful still. He thought the whole city might hear them, the way the bed creaked and Rebecca whimpered with want, the sound of his groans and heavy breath, though the rational part of him knew that this was nothing so extreme and that at the very worst the neighbors might have a hint of the deeds performed here but none beyond. Perhaps a challenge for another time, though their love was not to be proven to anyone but each other.

"Come for me, my love," he told her with a million kisses at her neck, her shoulder, her ear.

An ever devoted wife, Rebecca gave only a low whine as she came at his words. Her fingers tugged his hair nearly too painful but it was delicious suffering and Tom might have died a happy man if she had choked him there in her embrace, so tight it was. He felt her pulsing hot and hard around his cock unlike anything before and all the stars in the sky passed before his closed eyes. Another thrust, two, three, and he stopped deep inside of her, joining her in pleasure with the strength of a fierce storm, of the unwavering gush of a river. He thought the moment would linger forever on, that he could never leave this snippet of ecstasy lost in time and space, but then their breaths slowly came to quiet down again, their bodies embraced each other with softness rather than rush and frantic passion gave easy way to tenderness and contentment. He pulled out of her slickly and felt the luscious drip of his pleasure out of her. The linens would indeed have to be changed, that was plain.

"We can now rest easy," she said after some time of Tom nuzzling her neck, of holding her close. "For today, our lives have truly begun and I won’t let them be tainted by our grief."

"It lives only in memories and shall never find us again."

They surprised themselves with how quickly and easily they adapted to their new city. Tom struggled some with the language he was not used to uttering, but the goldsmith was patient and kind and understood that there was little need for words when he could just show Tom what to do in gestures for him to follow. After a few months, he spoke it well enough to manage all possible errands of the household and just in time to handle everything his wife could no longer do, such a belly to her she was bedridden the last few weeks before her time came. She was well loved by all the neighbors, though, and her chamber was as busy as a tavern most days as Tom asked the ladies around to please keep her company in her long days at home. In the comfort of their home and the friendships she had quickly built, she wanted for nothing at all.

Their son was born at the coldest of winter and Rebecca was fuming with the heat of her pain and her cries. After a night of anguish and anticipation, Tom was given the day off by the good goldsmith who liked him well, but the midwives demanded soon enough that he never stepped past the threshold of his own bedchamber till the babe was out and wailing and he spent the birthday of his firstborn walking in circles in their kitchen. Rebecca was loud, crying out for him and for God to have mercy, and for the child to come soon. She spent all morning and all afternoon in utter suffering till finally, the most blessed sound Tom had heard in all his years of existence, the night was pierced with the resounding bawling of a child and he rushed upstairs to greet his son.

"Becky!" He shouted. "Sweetheart, you’ve done it!"

Her face was drenched with tears, though Tom could not have said which were from the pains of childbirth and which were from joy as she looked down at their little miracle. The boy was very red and covered with the thick goo of birth every child was born with, not born a minute ago and already smothered with maternal love. Rebecca was too awed to speak a word, but the smile she gave Tom as she presented him their child said everything he needed to know.

"I’ll wash it proper for you, my pretty, and then you can look at him the rest of the night if you want," the midwife told Rebecca, offering her arms to take the babe.

"I’ll do it," Tom said and though he could see that the older woman was a little surprised, she showed him the basin they had prepared for the child’s bath and helped him do it the right way.

The babe was such a fragile thing in his hands he feared for him, so small and pink and wrinkled, but the most beautiful sight by far, so pure Tom felt tears pearling at his eyes. After the bath, he was all the prettier and the midwives showed him how to swaddle him nice and snug, how to hold his little head. Tom felt more moved by deeper instincts than by their instructions, though he took them gladly. Not one ounce of bad mood would come of him tonight. The rest of them were fretting about Rebecca, as the birth was a long process he knew little about but which was apparently not over the moment the child had seen the light of day. He sat at her side with the babe in his arms to soothe and comfort her through it and when finally all the effort was at its end, he passed her their son that she could dote on him while the midwives cleaned her up and eventually left altogether after many words of further advice.

"I can barely believe it," she whispered.

They were lying in bed together after he had changed the linens stained with blood − the midwives had given tips on how to clean that too, which he had followed dutifully. The babe was between them, his eyes not yet fully open, only occasionally peeking at whichever of his parents he could see, at Rebecca much more so than at Tom. Their hands were clasped on the bed between them as they had made themselves comfortable with all the pillows in the house, the softest blanket. He already knew he would not sleep a wink all night, or not for a long time. The thought of missing a single moment he could have spent watching his wife and son was unbearable.

"Me neither," he said in a soft voice and marveled at the babe letting out a soft coo as if in reply. "And yet he’s here with us and he breathes and lives."

He kissed the boy’s head which was fuzzy with brownish hair, so thin and soft.

"He smells so sweet," he said. Another time, he might have felt it odd to point out but he felt inebriated with the love imbuing his heart tonight. "I don’t know how that is, but you can smell the softness on him."

Becky huffed in tired laughter. Her fingers brushed against the babe’s curls, as if combing through but it was yet too short for that. There was a particular look in her eyes, a love so deep Tom felt it floating around the room, the house, catching him in its warmth. Outside, snow was falling heavy but they were as cozy as they could ever have needed in here.

"I don’t know how either, but you’re right." Her eyes met Tom’s for a moment and she smiled. "He’s the most precious thing I’ve seen in this world."

He nodded, scooting a little closer still. The boy’s eyes were closing again and Tom thought he was about to sleep, a little bundle of exhaustion between his two equally tired parents so high from the delight of his birth they forgot all about feeling weary.

"We’ll make a happy lad out of him," Tom said as they looked at their slumbering son. "I would lay down my life to ensure that. None shall ever harm this child as long as I am living."

Becky reached out to clasp her hand around Tom’s in silent thanks.

"And I will nurture him and raise him well, that he never doubts that there is goodness and kindness in the world."

It was a long night of tender gazing and hushed whispers of an excellent tomorrow to come. She fell asleep after some time, though the babe woke her up before Tom could shush him quiet. Perhaps, though, the sight of his wife nursing their son and singing sweet lullabies to him was just as well as them resting in slumber. Dawn was about to break outside the window but in here, it already had. He could already see it, the family they would have, a house crowded with babes and children all prettier and smarter than their siblings, for they would all be Rebecca’s sons and daughters and she could produce nothing short of miracles. Together, they would raise them with love and there was no doubt, Tom thought, that they would live in happiness and comfort all the days of their lives till they were wrinkled and old. He fell asleep holding his family close − and this was how it would be for the rest of his days.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

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**Author's Note:**

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